


only love is all maroon

by iskra (kiira)



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiira/pseuds/iskra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you kiss laura with something like desperation, something like ounces of blood; if she tastes death on your lips she does not say a word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	only love is all maroon

You’re so in love you think your skin could crack from the force of it (you are wonderful, she is wonderful, the world is wonderful and floating).

Her lips are soft and warm against yours, you tangle your fingers in her long blonde curls and _Ell, Ell, Ell_ , she is yours, yours, yours.

/

The cold shouldn’t be something that can touch your skin anymore (Mother made sure of that so many centuries ago in a graveyard), but it has been days since your supply of blood ran out (your vision blurs and you stumble).

“Carm?” Laura’s voice is distant and something desperate in you yearns for the thump, thump, thump of her heart (you _shush_ that something desperate because this is _Laura_ and you would – you could never).

“Carm, are you okay?”

And it’s been days (you try to hold your arms in tight and hold the seizures in until night) (these humans are so worried, so fragile; you do not want Laura’s eyes to widen in panic anymore than they do when she sees Perry’s shrinking, shrinking, shrinking supply of food), it’s been days since you’ve drunk and you crave warmth like a dead thing.

“I’m fine,” you grit out between trembling teeth (you will find some animal tonight and pray color back into your gray, gray hands).

/

Some nights, you creep into Ell’s room and she’s waiting for you, bundled up in her coat and boots (you take her hand, she is oh so lovely).

The garden between her house and yours is small and dead and you push her up against the wall and kiss her like she’s precious (make sure to keep your teeth small and pearl and human, make sure to keep your French soft, your words modern).

“Mircalla,” she laughs, “Mircalla!”

And on her lips, that word somehow is not damned.

/

The days have taken to smudging into one long smear of chill, bone numbing, heart-stopping cold (you are so cold; their blood sings to you as you sleep; you remember what Ell looked like as she died) (you dry heave into the snow and let its warmth surround you).

Laura holds your hand and half-drags you along, whispering long nonsense stories for hours (you are in love, you remind yourself, and for lovely minutes it breaks the cold). Sometimes Perry brings you a half dead squirrel and offers it to you with carefully blank eyes.

“I was a Girl Scout once,” she says, and she does not look away as you tear into it, Laura pushes your hair back from your (gray, gray, gray) face so the fur and guts and precious little blood do not stain, do not catch in your hair.

(You are too tired to hunt; Perry’s squirrels are all you can take and you do not know how much longer you can live.)

You kiss Laura with something like desperation, something like ounces of blood; if she tastes death on your lips she does not say a word.

/

You are going to go to America.

You are going to go to America and you are going to go with Ell and your heart sings in every language you know (for you have torn out spines and hearts and lungs; you are being given a second chance and maybe there are still angels).

Everything you own fits into one small suitcase.

(That is a lie.)

Everything you care about fits in one small suitcase, for everything else belongs to Mother (something scratches, screams inside you when you see Mother) (you want nothing to remind you of blood under your nails and of darling daughters).

You twist your long dark curls around your fingers, grab your suitcase and are damned to a forever of blinding, buzzing nothing.

/

By the time you reach the village, you’re exhausted and (what little blood you’ve wrung from the necks of animals is fading, fading, fading).

It’s not hunger, it’s _need_ ; your fingers itch for warmth and you don’t remember jumping the mayor, but Laura’s tugging you along and there’s an angry mob (you are familiar with angry mobs, their pitchforks and fire will do nothing to your marble flesh but _Laura_ ) (and once the panic sets in, there is LaFontaine and Perry and her stupid squirrels and their traps and they tried so hard to keep you alive).

The diner seems small and safe and warm, you breathe a sigh of relief (you ignore the thrumming of blood in their veins).

/

It takes a breath of a neverending heartbeat and Mother has her dead dead dead hands on Ell’s lovely lovely skin; Mother’s words are bitter poison (you cannot hear them; you are too far away but _monster monster monster_ rings in your ears).

Ell looks at you like betrayal (and this is not a lie) you want to scream.

(I am not a lie, my love, I am not a lie.)

“Mircalla, darling,” Mother’s talons reach for you, “I was just telling sweet Ell here of the things that go bump in the night,” and you forget to remember to breathe.

“I was… I…” (you are simply a child; Ell’s eyes are hurt and you want to kiss her, you never wanted to hurt her) (you are not a lie).

“You have so much to beg me for, my sweet,” Mother hisses, and her nails dig into your flesh (you scream; fangs; Ell screams and screams and screams and _monster, monster, go back to hell_ ).

Mother smiles prettily at Ell and (run Ell, run run run run run run run)

“This is what happens to little girls in the woods.”

(Ell looks at Mother. Ell looks at you.)

Ell screams.

/

Blood.

(it runs down your arms, your lips, your cheeks)

you are full of need you are hungry you are wanting you are full you are full you are full

(it is sweet, so so sweet and once it ran through your veins and now it is yours only through tearing flesh).

/

Laura wipes the blood from your mouth.

Laura kisses you.

/

“I’m so glad,” she whispers, “that you’re not hungry anymore,” and squeezes your hand gently.

You press a kiss to her hair, nod once, “Perry’s squirrels were getting pretty scrawny,” you agree, and she laughs softly.

There are so many words for you to say but you cannot (you can still taste seizures in your mouth and Laura is so warm next to you), so you press a kiss to her cheek and curl in closer.

 “I was worried,” and it’s so quiet you would have missed it, “I was so worried,” and you kiss her (she does not flinch at the taste of blood in your mouth) (your teeth are not small and pearl; they are yours).

(Laura does not, will not scream.)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at 2am while very sad; apologies for any typos


End file.
